


Fragile – Handle With Care

by phantomreviewer



Series: A Thousand Shards Of Pottery [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, museum!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There is so much potential out there, Grantaire and this is what you choose to do with your life?”</p>
<p>Grantaire has no idea where this has come from; when he’d last seen Enjolras a few days ago they’d been jovial with each other, with Enjolras watching as Grantaire had delicately catalogued the finds from when the villa had been excavated, careful not to break the ancient pottery.</p>
<p>“This is my job.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile – Handle With Care

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be a happy AU. I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. (But they are getting tentatively closer to actually being in a relationship.)

Grantaire is taking his lunch break when Enjolras arrives. He doesn’t look towards the doorway when the chime goes off, and it’s only when Enjolras sits down with him at the activities table that he registers his presence at all.

Enjolras leaves through the colouring sheets which Grantaire has shoved to one side so that he has space to eat. 

Black and white line art of Roman centurions, cityscapes of Rome and a smiling stereotypical Roman family posing for what would classify as a family portrait skirt through Enjolras’ fingers. Grantaire had drawn them all, one day when the museum had been practically empty he’s sat at the sales desk with a black marker pen and tried to find the perfect mix between easy to colour, charming and historically accurate.

He’d paid for the photocopying of fifty copies of each, bringing them in a few weeks later, and suggesting the idea to his boss.

Enjolras stacks them neatly, and then puts them to one side, turning to face Grantaire.

His face is serious, and Grantaire can’t help but roll his eyes.

Enjolras is always serious, even when he’s having fun and it was too much to hope that Enjolras would intentionally lighten up what has already been a long day.

Often Grantaire finds that Enjolras’ presence unintentionally cheers him up. It makes Grantaire feel like a love-sick school boy, and he hates himself a little every time he smiles at Enjolras.

But Enjolras doesn’t return the smile and Grantaire puts the half eaten sausage roll down onto the napkin that he’s put down onto the table, and he waits for Enjolras to start talking.

It seems that the topic that has Enjolras’ passions raised today is Grantaire himself, but not quite how Grantaire would like them to have been.

“This can’t be what you want out of your life, surely?”

Enjolras is sharp witted, and sharp tongued, and Grantaire can only frown at him as he gestures around the museum, pointing at the hand illustrated posters, the dustpan and brush by the door and to the sales desk where Cosette, their newest volunteer is sitting looking slightly perplexed at them.

“There is so much potential out there, Grantaire and this is what you choose to do with your life?”

Grantaire has no idea where this has come from; when he’d last seen Enjolras a few days ago they’d been jovial with each other, with Enjolras watching as Grantaire had delicately catalogued the finds from when the villa had been excavated, careful not to break the ancient pottery.

“This is my job.”

He’s still too confused by Enjolras’ words to be offended by them, although his brows are starting to knit together.

“It’s got no prospects, and no future. You’ve said before that you have a degree, you have an education Grantaire. Why don’t you stop sitting on your arse, doing nothing and getting drunk and actually do something with it?”

The noise of Grantaire’s chair scraping against the floor is grating, but he ignores it as he pushes away from the table.

“I don’t know what’s got into you today Enjolras, if you’re having a bad day you don’t get to just come in here and take it out on me. I have a job, it’s relevant to my degree, and I’m happy with that. I might not change the world, Enjolras, but I support myself. My life might not be perfect, but it’s mine. I get by.”

Enjolras stands up as Grantaire does, and it’s evident that he’s using Grantaire as an easy target. As someone to lash out on without thinking, because Enjolras’ barbs are normally sharp and pointed- and have more than once been used in Grantaire’s defence, but they’re not normally muttered and accompanied by an incredulous shake of the head.

“What an achievement.”

And Grantaire is annoyed now. Because Enjolras has cleared out a space in Grantaire’s life for himself, in his workplace and in his mind, and although Grantaire’s self-worth isn’t completely up to scratch he knows that he’s worth more than Enjolras’ unfounded bitterness.

But, because Grantaire cannot hope to be as ice cold as Enjolras in his anger he splutters and throws his hands up in anger. Upset replacing rationality. He often losses rationality when talking to Enjolras.

“Not all of us can live off an inheritance and a dotting family.”

Enjolras looks as angry as Grantaire feels, and Grantaire just doesn’t know how this escalated so quickly. Enjolras has barely been in the museum for ten minutes, and they’re both spitting fire at each other.

This isn’t healthy.

“Don’t bring my family into this.”

Enjolras looks like he might hit Grantaire, he makes no move towards doing so, but he’s leaning forward and hissing right in Grantaire’s face.

“Then don’t attack my choices.”

Grantaire deliberately doesn’t think of the hipflask in his jacket pocket.

Enjolras actually laughs at him, bitter and cruel.

“Of course not, you’re free to make your own mistakes. I don’t know why I am even bothering myself with such a worthless cause.”  
Grantaire doesn’t move as Enjolras strides over to the door, tugging it open and disappearing into the world beyond.

That escalated far too quickly, and Grantaire doesn’t know if he’s angrier with himself or with Enjolras. He snatches up the remains of his lunch and walks to the small back office, pulling the door too and dropping into the desk chair.

Cosette, who is far more astute than Grantaire had previously given her credit for catches his eye in a comforting smile when he looks towards her and then nudges the door completely closed with the toe of her sensible heels and then turns back to face the museum.

Grantaire is incredibly grateful that earlier that morning he’d draped his jacket over the chair at the sales desk as opposed to in the office. He knows that he shouldn’t have brought a hipflask, he’s been toying with the idea of limiting his drinking and it was just setting himself up for a fall to bring it here.

Instead he fills in paper work.

He spends hours hunched over the rickety desk tallying up the number of visitors per month, the most popular merchandise and what needs ordering in, and answering calls from local schools who wanted to come and visit.

He only breaks one pencil, and by the time that he’s snapping the sheets back into the folder he feels much calmer. 

Just drained.

He’s been overhearing Cosette speak to the visitors through the closed door since he took up residence in the office, and her tone is polite but firm. She’s a good worker, and Grantaire hopes that she’ll stay on. She’s volunteering on a part-time basis around her college studies, but she’s enthusiastic, and kind hearted so Grantaire hopes that she’ll stay.

And then Cosette opens the office door, slips inside and closes it behind her. 

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her and she looks at Grantaire through her eyelashes.

Despite her demeanour, her voice is confident when she speaks.

“Your boyfriend’s here.”

Grantaire frowns at her nonplussed, until he works out that she must mean Enjolras.

“He’s not, no. He’s not my boyfriend Cosette.”

They’ve not talked about this thing that’s developing between them, and Grantaire doesn’t want to jeopardise it. But now he wonders whether there was anything to jeopardise. Enjolras doesn’t have friends like him; he’s told him that before, his friends at university are educated and good-humoured, serious and academic. There is no one in Enjolras’ life like Grantaire. If they can’t have a friendship then Grantaire’s doesn’t want to think about what else they can’t have.

“Ask him to leave.”

Cosette shakes her head, raising her head to look Grantaire full in the face.

“He bought a ticket Grantaire.”

Grantaire frowns at her, playing with the pieces of broken pencil on the desk. Cosette knows how unusual it is for Enjolras to pay entry. The first time that she’d met Enjolras Grantaire had been buried in dressing up supplies and he’d overheard their confusion with delight, until he’d stood up waving away Cosette’s concerns and beckoning Enjolras over to him.

Then he shrugs.

“Then show him around, give him a proper tour. Heaven knows I’ve never managed to convince him to listen to one, go try out your womanly wiles.”

Cosette blushes but stands her ground.

“He’s already refused. He came in over half an hour ago, he paid up and went to go and sit at the activity table. I keep thinking that he’s going to leave, but he doesn’t and it’s nearly closing time. You need to go and talk to him R.”

Grantaire sighs, because he doesn’t want to talk to Enjolras. Not today, he wants to go home, to knock back what remains of the whiskey in his jacket pocket, to sit down in front of a James Bond film and eat the leftover take away in the fridge. But Grantaire has learnt that he rarely gets what he wants. So he stands up and shoots Cosette a glare that can’t be as harsh as he intends it to be because she just smiles back at him.

Enjolras is sitting at the activity table, fingers idly tracing the outline of one of Grantaire’s colouring sheets.

He drops himself into the seat next to Enjolras with a thump and determinedly neither looks at Enjolras nor initiates the coming conversation. 

Enjolras straightens in his seat and Grantaire isn’t imagining the pressure of Enjolras’ thigh against his own.

He tries not to react to it, but his hand flexes over his knee.

And still Enjolras doesn’t speak.

Grantaire is about to make the first move, preparing for whatever this is going to turn into when Enjolras’ hand covers his own.

He’s barely breathing as he turns his head towards Enjolras’.

Enjolras isn’t looking at him; instead he’s directing his gaze towards their touching hands.

“I can be terribly cruel.” 

Grantaire nods. He isn’t going to deny what he has witnessed first-hand. Enjolras is many things, he is passionate and he is beautiful, but he is cruel. When he chooses to be.

Enjolras fingers tighten over his and Grantaire allows his hand to be manipulated into Enjolras’ grasp.

He still doesn’t feel like he can say anything. 

Like he’d break this moment, should be try to talk.

“You’re not worthless.”

And Grantaire involuntary clenches his fingers around Enjolras’, and Enjolras’ face settles into a slight frown, as though he’d expected Grantaire to know this already.

Grantaire isn’t often speechless, and he knows plenty of things that he could be saying right now. He could laugh off Enjolras’ apology, or he could gather up the residual anger and spit it back in his face. But he only sighs and listens.

“I find it very difficult to understand my emotions at times, and things come out the wrong way.” 

Enjolras’ confession, and that’s what it is Grantaire realises, resonates deeps within him and Grantaire has to swallow the hope away.

“It’s okay Enjolras, I understand, I didn’t think you were really angry at me. I assumed that there was something else and I was just a ready and willing target.”

It sounds so clinical when he says it like that, and out of the corner of his eye Grantaire can see Cosette. She’s pretending to do something on her phone, but her fingers remain still and her eyes keep darting upwards towards them.

Enjolras makes a noise in the back of his throat that Grantaire can’t interpret, but which draws his eyes back to Enjolras’ pained face.

“I’m honestly sorry Grantaire.”

And then Grantaire watches, as though it is happening to somebody else, as Enjolras reaches out with his other hand, so that both of his hands are grasped around Grantaire’s own and then raises their joined hands to his mouth.

He ghosts his breath over Grantaire’s knuckles for a moment before he presses his dry lips to them.

Grantaire forgets to breathe.

And then he smiles, and he can feel Enjolras’ returning smile against his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I'll work out the exact order for the fics in A Thousand Shards Of Pottery, but this is taking place pre-relationship.


End file.
